


Stripped

by keraunoscopia



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, New Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 08:32:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12837342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keraunoscopia/pseuds/keraunoscopia
Summary: Rafael has a secret laying just under his clothes, but he wants to let Sonny in.





	Stripped

**Author's Note:**

> From a tumblr prompt, originally posted there.

The first time Rafael lets Sonny take his clothes off, its dark. They’re both a little drunk, both a little desperate, and Sonny doesn’t bother flipping on the light as he pushes Rafael into the apartment with heated kisses and breathy moans. They fall to the bed, and Rafael’s curtains are still drawn, not even the glow of city lights to let their eyes adjust. Rafael is grateful, because as much as he wants to catch Sonny’s sapphire blue eyes, as much as he wants to see the smooth muscled planes of his chest above him, Rafael doesn’t want to have to explain. Sonny’s hands ghost over his skin, his chest and arms, nails rake up and down his back. So Rafael knows that Sonny can feel them, but its so much different than seeing. In the dark, Sonny won’t ask him to explain, in the dark they’re too focused on sensation.

The second time Rafael lets Sonny take his clothes off, its not as dark as he wants it to be. Its nearly a month after that first time, and its not like they haven’t hooked up since, just last week he had pressed Sonny up against the marble wall of the courthouse bathroom and dropped to his knees, coaxing him to a choked, trembling climax. Rafael finds excuses, finds ways to convince Sonny that he doesn’t need to take his clothes off, that they’re not the barrier that Sonny insists.

But Rafael knows it won’t last, knows that whatever this is between them is more than just casual drunken sex in offices and bathrooms, so he knows that its only a matter of time. They’re in Sonny’s apartment, under the pretense of watching some movie that neither of them have been particularly interested in for the last forty-five minutes or so, and Sonny’s lips and teeth graze the sensitive skin of his neck. Rafael can tell its different than its been before, because Sonny isn’t pushing, isn’t desperate and needy, its slow, languid, and Sonny pushes him back gently. Rafael relaxes under Sonny’s gentle touch, lets himself lay back on the couch, but he tenses when Sonny reaches for the hem of his shirt. Rafael’s head falls back, because Sonny is a detective, an experienced interrogator. He reads body language as well as he reads Italian, like a third language he’s been fluent in his entire life.

Sonny’s cautious gaze meets Rafael’s eye, and he doesn’t ask, but Rafael knows it’s a question. Sonny’s looking for permission, even after everything they’ve done together, Sonny still wants to make sure that he’s comfortable, and Rafael appreciates that, he does, but he doesn’t know how to say that he’s not, that he doesn’t want Sonny to see his skin. So instead he nods slightly, and Sonny tugs up the hem of his shirt, lifting it over Rafael’s head, and settles back on his knees. The lights are off, but its only dusk, and in the low light, Sonny’s eyes take in the sight in front of him, tanned skin, the soft sparse curls of chest hair, and the deep crisscross of scars across his chest, welts so deep the scars are still slightly pink and raised. Sonny can’t see his back, not in this position, but there’s only more there, like hatch marks.

“Rafael,” Sonny breaths softly, because he felt them, the first time, but the sheer number is overwhelming. Rafael squeezes his eyes shut, head falling to the side, away from Sonny’s gaze. He can feel the burning heat of embarrassment spreading across his cheeks, down his neck. He can’t bear to look at Sonny, because Rafael knows what Sonny thinks, knows that Sonny is realizing the sight in front of him is disgusting. It’s the same thought Rafael has every morning, avoiding mirrors until his shirt is buttoned up all the way to the collar, tie in place and he can pretend they’re not hidden under there.

“I’m sorry,” Rafael murmurs, wishing he knew where Sonny had tossed his shirt to, wishing that Sonny wasn’t still straddling him, pinning him to the couch.

“Sorry?” That catches Sonny off guard, and he frowns “sorry for what?” Sonny can’t imagine what Rafael could possibly be sorry for, can’t figure out what could have possibly prompted that response.

“I know they’re ugly,” he mutters softly, feeling more naked under Sonny’s gaze than if he had been standing there entirely nude.

Sonny shakes his head immediately, and drops his hand, hovering just millimeters over Rafael’s skin, waiting for permission. “Nothing about you is ugly, Rafael,” Sonny responds with conviction, “look at me,” his voice is just shy of an order, and Rafael forces himself to open his eyes, to meet Sonny’s gaze. 

“Can I touch you?” Sonny asks quietly, and Rafael can see his hand trembling slightly.  
Rafael nods slowly.

“Is this from your father?” He asks gently, his fingers exploring each dark line across Rafael’s skin.

“Yeah-“ Rafael clears his throat, struggling to keep his thoughts together, because he’s had partners, lovers in the past forty years, but nothing has ever felt quite so intimate as Sonny’s finger tips against his marred skin. “He was fond of drinking and had a proclivity for leather belts,” Rafael explains. “And I’ve always had a bit of a mouth on me, didn’t know when to shut up.”

“With a belt?” Sonny’s face is calm, but Rafael can hear the horror in his voice. He knows that Sonny’s father never hit him, knows that Sonny grew up in a loving household when punishments were doled out regularly, but never with an intent to harm. Sonny’s childhood was as close to picturesque as it could get, a far cry from Rafael’s life in the projects. “How old were you?”

Rafael shudders as Sonny ducks his head, the soft velvety skin of his lips caressing each raised path. It feels more like healing than the last thirty years ever did. “Some are older than others,” he replies, trying to relax under the touch. “I think the first one was when I was five, I told him I learned in school that alcohol was bad for you, and he didn’t particularly care for that.” Rafael lets his head fall back against the arm of the couch. “I was seventeen the last time he ever hit me with it, when he found me kissing a boy from my high school. That was the worst of it, but I left for college a few weeks later, and didn’t see him again until his funeral.” Rafael’s voice sounds far away, like he’s trying to pull memories out of the sands of time. 

“Rafael?” Sonny glances up at him through long lashes, still hovering close enough that Rafael can feel scalding breath against his skin.

“Yeah?” Rafael furrows his brow.

“You’re fucking beautiful.”


End file.
